Curiosity and Iambic Pantameter
by astrum202
Summary: It wasn't until during their engagement that Henry Tilney was taken by surprise by Catherine Morland. And he never supposed her to keep a journal. A Northanger Abbey fanfiction.
1. Walks and Sonnets

Despite what common romantics would like to believe, Henry Tilney did not love Catherine Morland when he proposed to her. Or rather he did not truly love her. The affection that Henry Tilney entertained when he made Catherine his offer of marriage was a glowing, growing sort of warm ember, ignited by his admiration of the girl and fueled by her mutual affection. This is not to imply that the matrimonial lives of the two were to be plagued by loathing of their respective partner, it is merely to state that the moment in which the revelation that Henry Tilney realized that he truly loved his Catherine was yet to come. This it did, during the time of their engagement.

The image that the kind reader is entertaining of that instance at this moment most likely involves an embarrassed confession on the part of the lady in private circumstances. The gentleman, seeing his fiancé in her troubled state of mind and being so taken by her beauty in that moment, feels his heart beat a little faster, a spark sent throughout his body proclaiming his pure adoration of the woman before him. He then readily relates his feelings to her. The two blush with relief and share a brief, but intimate kiss, before being cut off by the return of their company and propriety. Now I may not promise that the story that shall be told to you will not involve these heart-warming occurrences however I may not give my word on the presence of each one.

No, the instance I am referring to was set in motion briefly after Isabella Tilney's marriage to a Sebastian Darcy and after General Tilney granted his son the permission to marry Ms. Morland. Eleanor, now the most intimate of friends with Catherine, had desired her as a maid of honor at the wedding, hoping to prove John Thorpe's logic of one marriage following another. Catherine therefore spent the week before and week after the marriage of her friend at Northanger. Now for the details of the moment when the lovers first truly loved each other; it was started the day after the wedding, the guests gone and Catherine helping her friend prepare for the start of a married life, and revolved around, of all things, a journal.

Henry Tilney, completely unsure of how to help his sister prepare for such a life, and facing the first premarital jitters of his own, was often found wandering about Northanger, chatting with Mr. Sebastian Darcy on occasion, but mostly looking at the sky, trying to put into words his own affection. He stumbled upon the journal by accident, finding it forlorn on a bench, situated on his mother's walk. The majority of the feminine journals he had seen, whether in possession of his sister or sisters of his acquaintances, were often bound in a bright color, with fanciful patterns of lace or ribbon on them. Therefore when he spotted the worn out dark green leather and plainness of the said journal, he would have had no cause in all the world to believe it to be Catherine's.

He picked it up, meaning to take it back to the abbey and return it to the person who had misplaced it, when a loose piece of paper fell to the ground in front of his feet. He picked it up and examined it, intending to gain some clue about who the bearer was. Written on that paper was the following poem:

Sonnet 17

Who will believe my verse in time to come

If it were fill'd with your most high deserts?

Though yet, Heaven knows, it is but as tomb

Which hides your life, and shows not half your parts.

If I could write the beauty of your eyes,

And in fresh numbers number all your graces,

The age to come would say, this poet lies,

Such heavenly touches ne'er touched earthly faces.

So should my papers, yellow'd with their age,

Be scorn'd like old men of less truth then tongue;

And your true rights be term'd a poet's rage,

And stretched metre of an antique song

But were some child of yours alive that time

You should live twice;-in it and in my rhyme.

-William Shakespeare

Spellbound by the sonnet, as many people are liable to become when reading Shakespeare, it took him a moment to realize the hand in which it was written was that of Catherine. Blushing, he slipped the poem back within the contents of the book and proceeded to return the journal to its rightful owner.

As he made his way back to the abbey, a flood of questions started to pour into his mind. Why did Catherine, who had told him so definitely in Bath that she did not keep a journal, have a book such as this in her possession? What was she doing with it on his mother's walk? Why was there a sonnet enclosed in its pages? It was, however the question of what the journal contained that perplexed Mr. Tilney the most as he made his way through the pine trees.

Mindful of being furtive, he slipped the book back into Catherine's room, his face red as he did so, for it seems as though young men have a misled belief that if found in a young woman's room, even alone, they are committing some sort of dreadful sin. He then quietly made his way back down the stairs to encounter his brother-in-law.

Since I have been scarce in descriptions I will now take it upon myself to describe for you Sebastian Darcy. He was a tall man, about an inch or two taller than Henry, with a kind, handsome face used to laughing. He wore his black hair surprisingly long, long enough that he often kept it in a short horse-tail. His hair color complimented the icy blue of his eyes nicely, making the color more striking, adding to his confident air. He wore his usual suit of dark brown and held in his hands a book from the library.

"Good afternoon Sebastian," muttered Tilney, still trying to wash himself of the embarrassment entering Catherine's room had created. Sebastian said nothing, but instead he kept his eyes fixed on the book silently speaking the words to himself. They stood there for a moment before Henry inquired as to what he was reading.

"It is a book of sonnets," said Sebastian eagerly. "Shakespeare. I adore them." Henry found it amusing that he had found a man who possessed no shame in reading poetry.

"And what do you find so intriguing about them?"

"Simply that anyone with the ability to write such sonnets, or read and cherish them must love someone with a sort of passion that cannot be extinguished." Henry remained silent. Not noticing his companion's silence, Sebastian smiled, blushing slightly, most likely entertaining some warm thought or memory of Isabella. Without another word Henry went to the library, eager to find his own volume of sonnets to study.

Author's Note: So I just recently finished re-reading Northanger Abbey for my book club and decided to browse some fanfiction. I discovered, much to my dismay that there really isn't that much to read, so I decided to write my own! Yes I am still working on my other fanfic if any of you are my non-existent regular readers, I will be alternating between chapters for that and chapters for this.

Anyway I got the idea for this when I read the last few pages of Northanger and it said that Henry Tilney wasn't entirely in love with Catherine but that he does kind of fall in love with her so I thought hmmmm…..when did that happen? So this was created! If anyone cares, this is not a Oneshot, more chapters are coming, so don't review whining about how it's too short. (On the off chance that people actually review…please review) Oh yes a quick note on Sebastian. I threw him in because I have an unhealthy obsession with creating the children of Austen couples and I couldn't pass up this opportunity to portray him in a bit more depth. (I'm pretty sure he is in the last chapter of all my other fanfictions, just at different ages) Yes, he is the son of Elizabeth and Fitzwilliam Darcy. Yes I do realize that each Austen novel probably takes place at roughly the same time and that Eleanor's husband was originally poor and became a viscount but suspension of disbelief people! Okay do I look like I'm dead? Characters belong to Miss Austen, sonnet belongs to Shakespeare and Sebastian belongs to me (in a completely non-sexual sense of the word)

-Peace out, Astrum

P.S. Northanger Abbey is **not** dead.


	2. Lovers and Poets

It is common when one first reads a love poem to find it the most ridiculous piece of sentiment that was ever penned by any creature with the ability to think. So thought Henry Tilney when he first read Shakespeare's sonnets. In fact he found them so hyperbolic that he was amazed that anyone could have the patience to write one-hundred and fifty of them. And so passed Henry Tilney's first impression of Shakespeare as a poet. However, as he had with his Catherine, when he was able to break the mere exterior of the poems he discovered that there was, in fact a depth to them that sparked his fascination.

They had a certain eloquence about them that gave them a lyrical effect. They were completely sincere, unlike many of love poems he had seen his friends attempt to write. The type sprinkled with unrealistic comparisons to goddesses and heavenly divinity. When he got down to it Henry could define them as one thing alone: a man's true expression of his feelings.

And so Mr. Tilney found himself the next day, leaning against an evergreen tree on his mother's walk, reading Shakespearean sonnets. And so he would have no doubt remained for many hours had he not caught the sound of a very frustrated and very familiar voice. He peered around the trunk of the tree to spot Catherine, journal and all, pacing slowly around an open part of the wood, twiddling with a pencil. What surprised Mr. Tilney the most, however, was the fact that she seemed to be muttering incoherent lines of iambic pentameter.

He quickly hid himself behind a bush, wondering what on earth Catherine was doing muttering incomprehensible lines of poetry. He watched intently as she paced the part of the woods, chewing the top of her pencil deep in thought. At last and expression of the utmost joy of discovery overcame her face and she began scribbling in her journal intently. When she seemed satisfied with what she had written, she glanced over it again and began to read it aloud.

"My love is that of the most distant star

Always burning just at the edge of night

To cheer the face any bad fortunes mar

Constantly dancing at your rim of sight"

"My love is of an ordinary rose

As deep and true as its petals of red

For if my affections you would oppose

I would rock shut and leave such things unsaid"

"My love is such of a left-opened book

With pages lying bare for all to see

Just waiting, hoping you will want to look

And view the heart to which you own the key"

"And if you chance to read this piece of ink

You'll learn it is of you I always think"

Catherine smiled, pleased by the poem she had just crafted. Indeed Henry was in awe of it himself. He stepped forward out of the trees, much to Catherine's surprise, smiling tenderly.

"I knew you were fond of novels," said Henry admiringly, "But I never thought you had such talent as a poetess." Catherine blushed furiously, as anyone is likely to do when they have believed themselves to be practicing their secret hobbies in private, turning away from Mr. Tilney to hide her scarlet face.

"You were not supposed to listen to that!" Her voice came out in an adorable sort of squeak, softening our hero's heart to an even more affectionate state than that of which his fiancé's sonnet had moved it.

"Why, was it not to me?" replied Henry jokingly. Catherine blushed to the darkest shade of red imaginable. I would encourage the reader to sort through their, no doubt very long, collection of romance novels in order to find the ludicrous sort of simile that I cannot bring myself to write.

"No of course not", replied Catherine, "it is only that, well, I did not think that you would show any interest in sonnets, especially such amateur ones as those written by myself." Now it is here that the moment the reader has hopefully been waiting in most high suspense for, or completely forgotten, occurs. Mr. Tilney did not reply immediately but instead gathered Catherine in his arms and chucked warmly into her ear.

"Why nonsense. I feel as though I do not deserve the dedication of such a well-written piece of poetry. My Catherine, my only regret is that I do not have the talent to return the favor of writing a sonnet proclaiming my love unto you." The two of them just stood there together for a moment, savoring the company of the one they now both realized they truly loved, before returning to the abbey, arm in arm.

"You must admit my dear that was a very sweet moment to watch." Sebastian Darcy stepped out from behind a nearby grove of trees, once the young lovers were safely out of earshot. He turned, helping Eleanor out of the same grove.

"I do not think it was entirely fair of you to take poor Catherine's journal," replied his wife in mock disapproval, trying in vain to hide her smile. "After all how was my brother supposed to react when he found it?" Sebastian laughed.

"All's fair in love and war," he replied mischievously, "besides, after that display I would hardly refer to her as 'poor Catherine'". Isabella simply shook her head, grinning.

"I will admit it was a cunning trick. Though I think I prefer your poetry." Sebastian, being caught unawares, also blushed nearly as furiously as Catherine. His wife relieved him though, releasing him from his embarrassment by kissing him on the cheek. Before long the two of them were following their predecessors.

A/N (yes I finally got the abbreviation): I must say I was certainly happy to gain so much support for my Northanger Abbey fanfic. Really enjoyed all the reviews and I most sincerely hope I have lived up to your expectations. I realize that I have not updated in an eternity. Alas, high school is the bane of fanfics. Now about the story itself, yes I wrote Catherine's sonnet. I know it isn't exactly up to Shakespeare's par but it was the best I could do late at night. I just had to add the little bit at the end with Sebastian. Yeah sorry I know no one wants to read about original characters, but I thought it was cute. Everything belongs to their respective authors, (meaning Jane, not me)


	3. Mirrors and Memories

"Are you aware of just how much she resembles you?" Mr. Tilney stared out the window looking at his daughter. Ophelia, who had recently entered her fourteenth year, sat in her usual oak tree reading a leather-bound book. Sitting on the sofa behind him, in a similar position was Catherine; her eyes also engaged with the print of one of their library's multiple volumes. Mrs. Tilney cast an amused glance out of the window and realized with little surprise that her husband was right.

With her thick brown hair done up in a hasty bun, a few stray locks drooping out, Ophelia looked exactly as her mother did at that age. "I can not believe she has a more serious reading streak than Arthur did," said Mrs. Tilney, referring to their older son. "He used to do nothing but read novels all day. He has as good an imagination as any child but I'm afraid he's rather awkward in society now." Henry laughed and put his arms lovingly around his wife.

"Well than he certainly has grown up just as you did. Though I believe Ophelia resembles you more." Catherine raised her eyebrows.

"How so, my dear? After all you claim the two to be more alike than any set of twins in England."

"In two respects. The first is, as you say, Ophelia reads even more than Arthur did. And the second…" Here Henry's voice trailed off and his eyes softened as if he were going over some pleasant memory. "The second is her ability to write extremely good sonnets."

Even after twenty years of marriage this caused Catherine to blush. I suggest the reader once again to call upon the simile I had them summon up in the previous chapter. Mr. Tilney on the other hand could not help but smile, thinking back to their engagement. Instinctively he put his hand on his breast pocket where on a worn folded piece of parchment fourteen lines of iambic pentameter were resting as close to his heart as ever.

**A/N: Thank you all for joining me in my first NA fanfiction. I actually had a blast writing this and for those of you who don't know me of old I apologize for my fickleness in updating. If you thought the daughter's name was kind of weird it's because I could totally picture Catherine naming her child after some sort of weird horror character and I was too lazy to actually find one so I just named her after the crazy girl in Hamlet. Anyway thank you *sob* for reviewing and hope you enjoyed the fic as much as I did. As soon as I'm done my last chapter of Manifest our Imperfections I will start my next Austen fanfic which will be for Emma. Hope to see you soon!**

**-Astrum**


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